The Hogwarts Champions
by brooklyndamera
Summary: When 6 names come flying out of the Goblet of Fire instead of three, the triwizard tournament is thrown askew. Now, instead of a champion representing their school, there are teams of four. Harry Potter, Cedric Diggory, Brooklyn Damera and Astrid Johnson make up the Hogwrats team, and have to band together to face the life threatening challenges ahead go them.
1. Chapter 1

Brooklyn POV

I am freaking out. Walking through the aisles of the quidditch world cup with your best friend tends to make you do those things.

"GO IRISH!" I yell, my face painted in the green and white colors of the team.

"I love their accents," Astrid mutters, grinning at my enthusiasm. "I think the Bulgarians are going to win though, so let's see my dear Brooklyn!" My best friend then starts screaming, "BULGARIANS!"

The people around us whistle and cheer, but I drown them out with my booing. The Irish are MUCH cooler. I mean, come on: leprechauns!

As we trudge our way through the seats, I see something - or rather someone - approaching us. Sleek blond hair, a suit, and intense gray eyes. This boy is, and forever will be, my worst enemy. Rage boils up inside me as soon as I spot him.

As he gets closer, Astrid sees him too.

"Draco!" she yelps, crashing into him for a hug. "It's been so long!"

Draco smiles, though it looks more like an evil smirk that's aimed in my direction, and hugs Astrid back.

"Hey!" he laughs. "Long time on see!" Lately, Astrid's been acting ... weird around him. I mean, wasn't that hug a little too close? They reluctantly pull apart, and Draco decides to address me.

"Brooklyn."

That's it. No hug for me. Not even a smile. Not that I want either of those; I mean, I would punch his jaw if he even tried to smile in my direction. Need I say that I hate him?

I try to smile at him, for Astrid's sake, but it turns into a painful grimace. Since Astrid is with us, Malfoy isn't calling me any of the things he normally does, like "filthy" or "mudblood." The stupid blonde charmed Astrid, and in turn became charmed by her. It's easy to see they like each other (a lot), and I swear I'm going to rip my hair out if they don't get together this year. But then again, I'll rip my hair out if they do, because I would lose my friend to my enemy.

"A lot of hair loss this year," I mumble to myself.

Malfoy returns his attention to Astrid, who's decided that it's absolutely necessary to be as close to him as possible. I'm kind of awkwardly standing to the side, inspecting that mysterious patch of mud on my hiking boots. I try talking to the patch of mud, so that I won't be eavesdropping, but heck, the conversation doesn't work out. Something about dirt going out with mud. I eventually give up and listen in on Astrid and Draco's conversation.

"- so yeah, I think Bulgarians are going to win this year," Astrid is saying. There's an edge to her voice, as if she's nervous. I roll my eyes. How obvious can you get?

"You're rooting for the Bulgarians? Me too!" exclaims that greasy haired brat.

"Then why do you have a green and white scarf?" asks Astrid. I bite my check until it bleeds to keep from laughing.

"Well, two reasons. One, it's similar to the Slytherin colors, and two, my dad likes the Irish."

Smooth liar, aren't you?

Nevertheless, Astrid goes along with it.

"Cool!" she cries.

"So uh ... I was - ah ... wondering if you would like to maybe ... sit in the minister's box with me and my father?" Draco stammers. I have tears in my eyes, and it's taking all my willpower to keep from laughing. Draco is stammering. Ha.

"Of course!" Astrid replies cheerfully. My heart sinks as I piece things together: Draco + Astrid + minister's box = I'm not invited.

Astrid turns to face me, and the wind makes her long, brown hair whip her face.

"Brooklyn, would it be okay if I, uh..." Astrid begins.

I cut her off, and snap, "Do whatever you want Astrid. Just leave."

Astrid's expression shows that she's hurt, but she leaves with Draco anyway. I watch their backs as they fade, and Draco's hand keeps twitching towards Astrid's, as if he wants to hold it but is afraid.

I smile. As mad as I am at Astrid for ditching me, this is cute.


	2. Chapter 2

Astrid pov

"How do you like the view?" Draco asks, grinning.

"It's..." I struggle to find a word to describe the view from the minister's box. I glance at Draco, and he scowls.

"It's not good enough, is it?" he asks harshly.

I gape at him. "Not good enough? Draco, this is breathtaking! I've always dreamed of coming to the quidditch world cup! This couldn't be more perfect."

His expression relaxes, and he smiles again.

"Are you hungry? They have every kind of pastry imaginable," Draco says. I nod enthusiastically, and he grabs my hand to lead me to the table he's speaking of.

I feel my heartbeat quicken, and I can't help but enjoy holding onto Draco's hand. We weave through a small crowd of people, and when we reach our destination, Draco seems to notice what he's done. He hastily drops my hand and takes a step away.

"Sorry," he mutters, though I barely notice. I'm too busy eyeing the pumpkin pasties lined up so gloriously in front of me...

"Take whatever you would like, Miss Johnson," a voice says from behind me. I jump, and turn to see Lucius Malfoy speaking. He's smiling slightly, and Draco is at his side, his cheeks slightly pink.

"Thank you, sir," I say, trying my best to sound calm. On the inside, though, I'm totally freaking out. Draco's dad knows about me? How much? Why? He's quite an intimidating man, really...

"I've heard so much about you," Mr. Malfoy continues. "Draco mentioned you are quite smart, though what else would be expected from a Ravenclaw like yourself?"

"Thank you, sir," I answer. I can feel my face burning, and I think Draco's father notices it too, for he quickly ends the conversation.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Astrid," he concludes. "And there is no need to call me sir. Lucius will do just as well."

I nod, and Mr. Malfoy walks briskly away.

"I'm sorry about my father," Draco mumbles.

"It's okay," I say. "So what now?"

"I think the game is about to begin," Draco suggests. "Should we see what's going on there?"

"Alright," I say. We walk over to a pair of seats together and settle in to watch the quidditch world cup.

When I look out across the stadium, my gaze falls upon two green and white faced figures, screaming together, both looking elated. I can tell it's my best friend from her black, curly hair. Brooklyn and someone else are cheering for the Irish together. I feel a pang of guilt for leaving Brooklyn like that, but when the Minister's echoing voice makes my seat vibrate, my best friend slips my mind.

The two teams are off, flying up into the air on their broomsticks. I inch forward, not wanting to blink in case I miss something important.

"Go Ireland," I hear Draco whisper beside me.

"What's that?" I ask, turning my attention from the game to him. "I thought you were rooting for Bulgaria!"

Draco grins and points to his scarf. "I'm Ireland all the way! I just said I was supporting Bulgaria because ... well, to be honest, I didn't think you would come up here if I was supporting a different team."

I stick my tongue out at him, but I smile. "I'd come up here no matter what team you like! Now come here. We'll be Irish fans together."

I tug off Draco's scarf, and drape it behind both of our necks. My fumbling fingers clumsily tie the ends into a knot.

"There," I say triumphantly. "Now we're Irish fans together."

Draco sighs dramatically, but a smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. I grin in response and settle down once more to watch the game.

"I thought you were rooting for Bulgaria," Draco accuses, mocking my tone.

I shrug. "You said the same thing."

Draco and I don't speak for quite a while. We're too busy watching the quidditch match. At one point, I think I may have heard Lucius Malfoy mutter something about love to someone in the ministry. I still can't figure out if he did.


	3. Chapter 3

Brooklyn pov

Yay. Now that Astrid left, all my excitement for the match has seeped away. It isn't the same screaming "IRISH!" without Astrid there to scream out the opposing team's name. Besides, Astrid is the reason I'm here. Her father is a main reporter for the Daily Prophet, and he makes a ton of money off of it. But I do feel bad for Astrid - her mother died when she was only seven.

I stroll through the seats, thinking my sad thoughts. It IS funny, though, when I walk up to a Bulgarian guy, scream "IRISH!" in his face, and run away. Who knew a man could turn that purple?

After this, as I walk along sulking, something catches my eye. A mischievous, crooked grin, and a face covered in green and white paint. The guy is walking towards me, grinning as wide as Antarctica.

"Weird analogy," I mutter, having actually seen the mental image of a smile the size of Antarctica plastered on the world map. Shaking off my weird thoughts, I turn to face Mr. Grin. Mr. Grin brings a smile to my face.

"Hey Seamus," I say cheerily.

"Wassup, Brook?" he replies.

"Oh nothing much, really. You know, casually rooting for the Irish." Seamus' grin gets even bigger, which surprises me. I didn't think that was possible.

"Can your grin stretch as far as Antarctica?" I ask innocently, though I'm genuinely curious.

"What are you talking about Brooklyn?"

"No? I assumed as much." I smile. "Rooting for the Irish, are we?"

"Always will. Haven't you heard my accent? I'm Irish!"

"No duh, Sherlock."

"Shut up, Watson!"

I grin. "I got the better end of that deal."

"What are you talking about?" he asks, baffled.

"Well, if you're Sherlock Holmes, then you're a single guy living in an apartment by yourself, on drugs, with one friend and an inexplicable appetite for murder. While I- " I point to myself - "am a respectable doctor with a family and a healthy taste for adventure. It doesn't take a detective to understand who ended up with a better life ... ah, sorry. Bad pun."

Seamus looks amused. "Random aren't you?" he asks, a playful glint in his eyes.

"And proud of it!"

"So where is Astrid? You guys would NOT shut up about this match last year."

I feel my expression turn sour, and Seamus deflates.

"What's wrong, Brook?" he asks, looking concerned.

"Astrid ditched me," I reply bitterly. "She ditched me for Malfoy, the filthy creep. They're in the minister's box, having the time of their lives. Stupid blonde brat."

Seamus's eyes turn stony. He doesn't have any good experiences with Malfoy either; half the time I think he hates him more than I do.

"Then forget about her," Seamus says. "This is going to be the game of your life, and you're gonna enjoy it. Come on. You can watch the match with my family. We don't have the minister's box, but they're still seats." He smiles kindly.

I walk up to him and hug him.

"Thanks," I whisper.

"No problem," he whispers back.

We break apart, and Seamus takes me to his family's tent. After introducing me to his sister, mom, and dad, we start to walk off toward our seats. Seamus and I have an interesting conversation about who would win in a duel - Snape or McGonagall - when we heard the minister's voice boom across the stadium.

"WELCOME! WELCOME! Welcome to the annual Quidditch World Cup!

Seamus and I scream as loud as we can, and I realize how stupid I was for not bringing a bottle of water.

I look at Seamus dead serious and say: "My ears will never be the same. I expect you to nurse me back to health."

Seamus bursts out laughing, and says, "Gladly Brook. I hope it heals with pleasure."

I grin, and turn back to the game.

The Irish come flying out on their brooms, and I scream even louder than before. It's so great, and having Seamus's shoulder touch mine almost makes up for the fact that Astrid isn't with me right now.

As we walk back toward Seamus's family's tent, I feel on top of the world.

"Did you see the way the Irish Captain rode his broom? It was so freaking awesome!" Seamus exclaims.

I smile. "It really was. Hey, I just realized - I don't have a nickname for you! What should I call you?"

"Jonathan, after the Captain!"

"No."

"Uh ... Firebolt?"

"You're kidding, right?"

"Seamus?"

"This is so stupid. Sure."

Seamus grins.

"Thanks for taking me Seamus. It sure means a lot," I say.

"You're welcome Brooklyn! See you!"

He pulls me into a surprise hug, and I smile to myself. For some odd reason, he smells like grass. When I pull away from him, my eyes lift upward toward the sky. I jump a bit when I see the dark skull shape. A sudden scream penetrates the calm atmosphere.

The stadium is under attack by Death Eaters.

"Astrid," I breathe. I hear Seamus call my name behind me. He runs up to me, and I yell over all the noise.

"ASTRID! WE HAVE TO FIND HER!"

He nods, and we set off through the maze of people to find my best friend.


End file.
